


they would be as in love with you (as i am)

by fiveAMlight



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), Pacific Rim (Movies) RPF
Genre: Anti-Kaiju Wall, Anti-Kaiju Wall Worker, Childhood Trauma, Flashbacks, Jaegers (Pacific Rim), Kaiju, Kaiju Attacks, Loss of Parent(s), Not Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Robot/Human Relationships, Sentient Jaegers, Technically Child Labour, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveAMlight/pseuds/fiveAMlight
Summary: AU after the first Pacific Rim movie where Crimson, Gipsy, Coyote, and Cherno are all alive and well, but the Kaiju attacks are still going on.  Reader (no gender pronouns) is a teen orphaned by Kaiju, living with PTSD symptoms when another Kaiju attack happens, destroying their town and leaving them for dead.  Or, at least, until they're saved by Crimson Typhoon, an acutely sentient Jaeger who takes them under his wing (and maybe falls in love in the process).
Relationships: Crimson Typhoon & Reader, Crimson Typhoon/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. flashback

**Author's Note:**

> heyo! first of all, tysm for clicking onto this! ngl you're probably here as a joke (which i can entirely respect) but uh... yeah, anyways. this is my first chaptered fic (assuming all goes well and i don't go inactive again lol), kinda got no idea how it's gonna play out but the summary is hopefully gonna be pretty accurate?? anyways, in true compliance with the chapter title, this whole chapter is just a flashback-esque dream. it's probably pretty confusing, but hopefully i can get chapter 2 out sometime tonight which should clear things up somewhat.  
> in any case, i hope you enjoy! comments and suggestions are always appreciated :) ngl i'm probably gonna need some help with the plot so i do take requests! also i plan on just using they/them pronouns for both the reader and crimson but if y'all want i might make separate copies with different pronoun combinations? lmk!  
> k i wrote way too much!! if you still wanna read this after all that ily lmao

The sky seems fuzzy, thick with deep grey and black clouds. The setting sun sets the cascading waves alight with a bloodred flame. It's a beautiful day, you think, your legs dangling off the warm wooden pier into the spray of the water. Around you, people scream. The rush of the ocean is mixed with the high-pitched wails of children and the occasional ground-shaking _thud_ of the Kaiju attacking the mainland. 

You take deep, grounding breaths, acknowledging the deep-set fear and terror threatening to course through your veins. You push them away, trying to focus on the rhythmic in and out of the tide. _It's okay, it's just a dream. None of this is real. You're safe, warm, in your own bed. It'll be over soon. Just breathe._ A warm splatter lands across the back of your neck. You turn around - _shit_ \- to see a body flopped behind you, one arm splayed out on the ground, the other flung in front of her face in a last line of defense. 

_Every time!_ you silently scream at yourself. This is your first mistake, and you know it immediately. _If you weren't stupid enough to turn around every fucking time, you might get out of this faster!!!_ You can feel rage tearing at your insides, threatening to consume you. Forcing it down, you try and take a deep breath, return to the sunset. You close your eyes, inhaling. When you open them again, the woman is bobbing along on the waves, her arm reaching out, eyes unfocusedly open as if to say, _Why didn't you save me? Why aren't you good enough?_

The sight makes you snap. You know it's a bad idea, _know_ that if you don't just let it pass, it'll get worse. But you don't care. You stand up, letting out a broken howl of rage, and sprint towards the Kaiju. Your eyes fill with tears that will never reach your hands as you bolt across the marred landscape of bodies and rubble. You grab the nearest sharp piece of scrap metal and swing it at the Kaiju's foot, hard. It barely makes a scratch, but it's enough to get its attention. You stand defiantly beneath it, screaming so loud you can feel your lungs vibrating. "Come and get me, you fucking pussy!" you yell as it turns its head towards you. "Come on! You came here for me, so why don't you just. Fucking. Get. It. Over with!!" 

The Kaiju grunts a little, inclining its head as if to wonder, _Why is the tiny snack so loud?_ Fed up, you grab the metal piece again and thrust it into its flesh with all your body weight. It can't feel like much more than a splinter to the Kaiju, but you take a running jump towards it, pushing off the metal piece to get a handhold on an ankle-like bump on its foot. Swinging onto the top of the slightly hoofish foot, you taste blood and salt, but you're too preoccupied with the anger consuming you from the inside out to think anything of it. You scream wordlessly, channeling a sort of rage you've never felt in reality. Having no weapon, you pummel the tough, scaly skin with your fists until you finally collapse against it, sobbing. The Kaiju has all but forgotten you by now, going back to wreaking havoc in the city. _Fucking idiot._ You can't even distract it long enough to die. You're useless, worthless. Can't stop thousands of people from dying - children, parents...

Your mind trails off at that thought. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!!! You know better than to think of them - to think of -_ Suddenly you're hurtling through space, the Kaiju having finally decided to move its foot. You land hard, lacking the energy to even try and protect yourself, smacking your head against the pavement. You feel pain, but it's shallow, more like a memory than a real event. Your eyes drift shut of their own volition, leaving you paralyzed in the dark. But even behind your eyelids, scenes play out. A beautiful brown-haired woman stroking your hair, having tea parties with you, holding you in her arms as you watch a movie. A slightly older version of her crying on her bed through a crack in a door, drinking the tea you made her as you tried to comfort her. Laughing for the first time as you tell her stories about your day, make puppet shows with paper towels and old socks. The same woman's face, streaked with tears, as she ushers you out the door of your old apartment building. Her voice rings in your ears, as clear as if it were yesterday. _(Y/n), run!! Get out of here!! Go!!_

Tears spill out of your closed eyelids, burning against your warm cheeks as though they were made of acid. You can still see her face... her long, beautiful hair swishing behind her as she turned, covering your body with hers as a beam crashes down on top of her. Her hazel eyes still open, looking in your direction but not _at you_. Empty of the life she used to be bursting with. You try to move but you can't, can't do anything but relive the sorrow, again and again and again. The last thing you hear before everything goes dark, really and truly dark, is your voice, calling out her name as buildings burn around you.

_Mom? Mom? Mom?..._


	2. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fundamentally, Reader wakes up and lives their normal life. No Crimson Typhoon yet, should be in a couple chapters though :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayo! i'm in the middle of class rn so it's gotta be quick, ty to the grand total of 3 people who read this lmao

You awake with a start, gasping frantically for breath, straining against restraints that aren't there. You taste blood and tears; bringing your fingers to your mouth you realize you bit your tongue. Hard. Again. 

You sigh, untangling yourself from the sweat-soaked bedsheets and push yourself, shaking, to your feet. You check the time on the half-broken digital clock you keep next to your bed. 4:30 a.m. All you really want is to sit back down on your bed, press your back against the wall as the blankets protect you from the outside world. Instead you force yourself to your feet, stripping the sheets from your mattress and replacing them with a second, neatly folded (if ragged) set. Not bothering to change your nightclothes, you slip on a pair of shoes made of old tires, making your way through the run-down low-income-housing-turned-long-term-refuge apartments, squeezing through a flight of barely-functioning stairs down to the river. 

Well, it's vaguely generous to call it a _river_. More like a dusty, reddish, cement-filled stream. Still, it's the only fresh water around, and you're glad to have something other than ocean water to bathe in. You strip off your still-soaked clothes and gingerly lower yourself into a small yet functional space you've managed to clear of debris. The cold water hits your skin, burning like fire and threatening to make your muscles seize up. You've learned by now the longer you stay in, the harder it is to get back up. Exhaling sharply through your nose, you pull your laundry in next to you, rinsing it out as best you can without letting the current pull it away (or, you know, getting hypothermia.) Making your way back inside, you clip your clothes to the sheets and hang them out of the broken window via your curtain rod. 

It's almost 5 by now. The motions you make to clean up the aftereffects of a hard night are second nature by now. You pull on a pair of loose, cotton pants and the nearest t-shirt. Your window is only a story above the communal patio, so you grab your single metal pot and a bundle of tea leaves, shimmying out around the shards of glass and onto the couple chunks of old building which make a makeshift ramp down to the small, open-air square, containing what passes as a firepit and an old water pump. As your tea brews, you finally allow yourself to relax for half a second. The emotions, of course, come back just as hard and fast as the first time you had a flashback-nightmare. But nearly four years of practice have left you well-equipped. You don't let the pain consume you, haven't done that for years now. Instead, you plant your feet firmly on the ground in a sitting position and straighten your back. Sipping your tea, you take deep breaths in, looking up as you do so to admire the stars. You've always loved the stars. They're the only beautiful thing about this place, anymore at least... 

Back before the first Kaiju attack, you'd always thought this town was the most beautiful place in the world. You can still remember the smell of your old apartment. You and your mom weren't rich, by any means. But money seemed to matter less then. You close your eyes, breathing in deep as the memories wash over you. _Two broken glass bottles on top of a plate, your mom pouring ocean water over them as you watched, making a sparkling fountain. The fish that used to nip at your heels as you ran through the unbroken surf. The kind shopowners that would smile at you as you passed, offering you sweet fruits and candy. The patterns the buildings made as you ran around them in dry, clean streets, giggling so hard your ribs started to hurt. Playing games in the water, braiding kelp into flimsy rope and pretending it was hair, imagining long gowns of waves and jewelry of little pebbles._

You gasp, your eyes flying open. You're breathing hard; the sun is already starting to rise. Groaning, you make your way to your feet, slumping back up the ramp to check the time. 6:04. _Shit._ All the good shifts'll be taken by now. Still, you comb your hair with your fingers as best you can and grab a chunk of bread as you rush back out the door. You tear pieces off with your teeth as you sprint towards the shuttle port. _Fuck!_ you accidentally yell. Fortunately there's no one there other than you. Having missed both the 5:30 and 6 a.m. shuttles, you have to wait another half hour to get into town. 

A pang goes through your chest (as is every morning) when you remember that every time you work on the wall, you are, in essence, helping destroy the livelihood of the sweet fishing town you once loved. _It's okay_ , you have to remind yourself. _You're not destroying it, you're saving it from the Kaiju. The fishermen will find other trade. Their lives are more important than their jobs._ Still, it hurts to know that you're changing their lives forever without their consent. _It shouldn't be my decision, though..._ You force yourself to stop. No point in spiraling over something you have no control over. The wall would be built without you, anyways. Sighing, you sit down against the half-ruined wall of a building, staring back up at the sky.

Time passes quicker than you're prepared for, and before you know it, a rusted, puttering shuttle's pulling in. You're the first one on, flashing your half-faded worker ID tattoo from yesterday to the driver, who just scoffs and turns back to the wheel. You squeeze into one of the only semi-clean seats and stare out the grime-caked window into the mid-apocalyptic world around you as the shuttle fills with people - mostly workers, you recognize from the site. With a clanking of gears and much sputtering, you're moving (albeit slowly) out onto a half-cleared bit of road, towards the mass of a coastal wall in the distance. Soon, you're coming to a squeaking, shuddering stop in front of the half-assed tent of a central office.

You leap off the bus quickly, forcing away your anticipation about another day on the dangerous, life-threatening job. Being a minor, you normally wouldn't be allowed to work on the wall, but what does the government care about child labour, really? Anyways, you know a guy. As usual, you careen into the tent at full tilt, putting on a cheerful, energized face and manner.

"Hey, Billy!" you say in your peppiest voice, leaning both forearms onto a high desk, behind which sits a grimy man in his late 30s-early 40s. He doesn't even turn his head towards you, simply grunting out a "No." and flipping to the next page of the ratty, 3-year-old newspaper in his hands. "No!?" you ask, pretending to be affronted. "But Billy! I'm here to work! Isn't that what you need? Workers?" He scoffs, still not breaking eye contact with the smudged, illegible ink of the paper. "Not kids, we don't. Got enough problems on our hands without this godforsaken wreck of a government coming after us for child labour."

"Aw, Billy." you pout, spinning around and elongating the "y" sound until it's more of a yowl than a word. "You know, you still owe me one from... uh... that one time... I did something nice for you?"

Finally tearing his eyes away from the tattered paper in his hands, he crosses his arms on his desk and stares at you as you flip back around to face him. "Didn't I tell you to get out of here last time? And every time before that? I don't ever wanna see your face again, kid. Go get a job fishing or something." 

You pull your features into an even more exaggerated pout, folding your arms across from his and plopping your head down onto them. "Come on, Pops! I'm just lookin' for an honest day's work helping my country. Can't you admire that?" He's not really your father, of course, but it pisses him off when you call him that, which is all you're really going for here. 

He stares at you discontentedly for a second before sighing, pushing his chair back from the desk and grabbing a stamp. "Wrist." Your features break into a grin as you extend your arm towards him. He grunts displeasedly at the faded ink from yesterday and grabs an old, oil-stained rag that might once have been white but now definitely resembled greasy mud. He wipes away the remains of your tattoo. A genuine smile flickers up beneath your plastered-on one as you can feel how gentle he's being. Grabbing the stamp again, he fiddles with the number on it before dunking it in the pad next to it and stamping a fresh tattoo on your wrist, over where the old one used to be.

"Thanks Billy!" you call over your shoulder, skipping away towards construction. "You're on level 8 duty! Third unfinished square!" he calls out. "Fucking kids." rings after you. You smile despite yourself. "Stay safe" he mutters into his paper, almost a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tysm for reading!! promise they won't all be this rushed, i didn't even get a chance to beta i'm just really excited to keep going :)


	3. fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is literally just all i could get out in an hour  
> also please ignore the notes i'm a wreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah fuck  
> ! PROBABLY IGNORE THIS IT'S JUST A RANT !  
> guys i'm so sorry... first of all, this has 20 hits which is about as many hits as an "average" fanfiction gets in the first hour of publication but i'm kind of insanely happy?? weirdly?? kinda didn't expect anyone to read this.  
> anyways, i had this chapter started when the Weekend of Doom hit and everything got closed, which like, should mean i have more time to write? but isolation is a big trigger for depression for me and i just got into the mcu in the past 8 days (even though i've been reading mcu fanfiction for months, thanks for getting me into this otpcutie lmao) and it has taken me 8 days to watch like 45 hours of movies? i ended up just binging infinity war and endgame back-to-back last night so fundamentally i stayed up till 6am. and now there's a twitter hour-long write-off that i learned about 13 minutes late and now i wasted 10 writing this and fuck i'm a mess.  
> ! END RANT !  
> plans for the future: gonna keep writing this, maybe write some JARVIS/Reader on the side because i guess i have a thing for sentient robots???? not really but also, somehow i fell in love with both these boys so. coincidence much?  
> sorry i took such a long break, again: depressed and watching mcu. not an excuse though, i'll try to do better lmao  
> love you guys tysm for reading

You don't have any equipment on you, of course, but you grab a standard-issue work-pack from the side of the access scaffolding and swing yourself up with a lot more energy than you have. Some people prefer their own tools, no matter how cheap and second-hand, if it means they don't have to share them. _With good reason, I guess_ , you think to yourself as you check in the pack to find a thick coating of rust over everything within it. 

You don't particularly like building the wall - a feeling amplified by the occasional soundtrack of people falling to their deaths - but, well, you get paid. Or, rather, James Silas gets paid, the fictional log Billy keeps to give you. At least most of. You smile despite yourself. You've always shared a strange bond with Billy, ever since the day you showed up as a quiet, half-starved 14-year-old begging for work. He pretends to hate you, but you know under the gruff mask he puts on for the rest of the world, there's some kind of deep, paternal instinct that flares up every time he sees you. He lost his husband and both his kids to a Kaiju attack in the city your dad left to. You have no way of knowing, of course, but you have always harboured a secret hope that he died in the same attack. It's a terrible thing to hope for, of course. But then again, it's no worse than leaving a 6-year-old alone with their mother without even saying goodbye, so it feels kind of justified. After the attack, he couldn't live with the grief, so he moved here. Another destroyed and grieving town. You'll never quite understand the logic behind that, but you're glad he did. In some odd, primal way, it feels like you complete each other. A father without children taking care of a child without parents.

...

Eventually, after a long day of scary, backbreaking labour, you wipe off your grimy, grease-caked hands on the fabric of the work-pack and swing yourself down by weak, trembling limbs. As ever, you've barely made it to the ground before you're swept away by a current of solemnly treading workers. As you pass the tent, you try, almost involuntarily, to look back to see Billy before you leave. The crowd's moving too fast, though, and you're practically ushered into a shuttle before you can call out to him. _It's fine._ You always try to see him before you leave, a ritual of sorts, though you're barely ever successful. The bus is mostly full by the time you get on and you're shoved to the back by a bustling throng of bodies. Sighing, you brace yourself against a metal pole and try to relax as much as possible as the shuttle putters along, each bit of debris causing the whole craft to shake and sending people colliding into one another. 

After what seems like an eternity, the mostly-empty car pulls into the port. You manage to get off and make your way up to your room before collapsing against a wall, letting out a deep, pent-up breath it feels like you've been holding in all day. All you want to do is curl up in your cot and pass out for the next week, but as usual, you have work to do. It's always difficult to get back on your feet after a long day of work, when you're already tired, but something about today feels... different. Not just feels, sounds, too. You can't quite pinpoint it, but something feels like it's missing from the air. _Come on, get up._ you mumble to yourself, shoving off the wall hard in order to get yourself to anything resembling a standing position. You give yourself a moment to stumble tiredly across the room to grab your pot again before straightening up, taking a deep breath in to fortify yourself. _No use moping around, gotta get on with it... gotta..._ Your thoughts trail off as you're distracted again. Automatically an internal dialogue sets up in your mind, a reflex you've earned over years of indecisiveness. _Something doesn't feel right here. Can't you feel it? It really doesn't, something's wrong something's wrong something's... No, shut up. It's nothing. You're tired and you're losing it. Need to get your shit together. Come on, did you want tea or not? Well, yeah we want tea but stop ignoring your senses, you know they're the best thing about you... Gotta trust your reflexes, gotta. Come on, don't lose focus, there's something... Just... Can't make out what it is..._

"Shut up!" you accidentally say out loud. You're breathing heavily, you groan and slump back against the wall. Some days it really does feel like you're losing it. Talking to yourself has always been a thing, everybody does it... _right?_ Nonono, it really is. It's just a way, to get your mind in order, to... You're about to cry out of sheer frustration. _Guess not sleeping has taken its toll after all,_ you think grimly. Thinking clearly isn't an option, so you push yourself out the window with robotic movements, trying to ignore the world around and within you as much as possible. This happens sometimes, not often but. Sometimes. When your mind feels like a jumbled abyss of random and inconsequential thoughts. Times like this are what make you really wish you had someone to slap you upside the head and tell you to get your shit together. 

In retrospect, that would've been pretty great. Because as it is, you're so caught up with the fog in your head, you barely notice the screaming.

Immediately, your muscles lock up. You can't think, can't even _breathe_. All of a sudden you're just a little kid again. You don't know where you are, don't know what you're supposed to do as the Kaiju stomps its way towards you. Water sloughs off its mottled purple-green-brown hide. This one is about twice the size of the building you're currently surrounded by, small by Kaiju standards but still pretty formidable. Sensation starts coming back into your brain but not your limbs as the Kaiju roars, leaving you helpless to do anything but watch with dull horror at the scene unfurling around you.

There's no smoke. That's the strangest thing to you, that in this busy, bustling town, there's nothing with fuel, heat - nothing to explode, nothing to burn. Instead of the plumes of smoke that visit you so often in your dreams, there's simply clouds of concrete dust as the Kaiju plods on, destroying everything in its path. You can hear people screaming everywhere, but everything sounds tinny, almost like a recording. A woman who was sitting on the other side of the courtyard from you sprints towards you and _tackles_ you. "Are you crazy?! she yells. "Move! Get out of here!" Her strength mixed with the impact of the ground forces you back into motion, and you jump back up, grabbing her from where she landed next to you. All your instincts kick in and you don't _think_ , just lead her away, automatically adopting a sense of authority you've never felt before. You vault back up into your apartment, grabbing what little supplies you have and sprinting to the stairs, still clutching the woman's wrist. They're too narrow to fit both of you, and hard to navigate for someone who doesn't know them, so you take a running jump at the already-broken window, dragging her with you. You land, attempting to tuck into a roll but realizing at the last second you're going to have to cushion her fall in some way. Time seems to speed up as your limbs move too slow, too sluggish. _Wow, this was a really terrible idea._ Somehow, miraculously, you pivot in midair, landing on your feet before rolling backwards on both your ankles and tumbling to the ground. You manage to get your body between the woman's and the concrete, though, so it's kind of a success, at least. As you both lie there, dazed and in pain, you finally get a good look at her. With little more than a quick glance to her face, you realize she's not a woman after all - just a girl, maybe 11 or 12 years old, and you can't help yourself, you audibly _gasp_ , like you're in some kind of play. You're broken from your thoughts, though, as the Kaiju roars again, crushing the building you were just in with a single stamp of its foot. You try and drag yourself to your feet before realizing how much damage was actually done to your ankles. Sharp pain shoots through your left foot in particular, and you quickly tumble back to the ground, crying out. "Go, go, get out of here!" you yell at the girl, hoisting her to her feet from your position on the ground and shoving her away from you. You can see the pain in her eyes, but she's scared. She turns and runs as you push yourself to your hands and knees. 

_The river._ You don't know what comes over you, but suddenly you're dragging yourself in the direction of the river. It's a stupid-ass plan, and you know it, but honestly, you can't think of anywhere you'd rather die, so you go with it. Or well, that is, until the Kaiju takes another huge, lumbering step, passing right over you but effectively putting itself between you and the river. Out of options, you cower below a piece of debris which forms a kind of rudimentary shelter in the middle of the road. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try and breathe, try and relax. _It's okay, it's okay. This has been a long time coming. It's my time, isn't it? It's my time to go. And, hell, if there is an afterlife, maybe I'll get to see my mom again. Who knows? Maybe it's for the best._ Minutes seem to drag into hours as you feel yourself choking on the heavy layer of dust in the air. Your mouth feels like it's stuffed with sand. You try and inhale as little as possible, to speed the process as much as to spare yourself the pain. You can just feel yourself about to drift into unconsciousness, your lungs caked and burning, as a loud clanging noise makes you start. As much as you know it's a bad idea, you can't stop yourself from peeking out from under the rubble. You gasp at the sight in front of you before redoubling into a coughing fit, but you can't unsee what you just saw. The clouds of dirt and cement could be fooling your eyes, but it's all just. _Gone._ Everything seems to be leveled, no buildings or shuttles in sight. Even the vague outline of the wall seems to be torn apart. But that's not the most impactful thing. No, that's the giant, beautiful, dusky-red Jaeger standing not twenty feet away from you, fighting the Kaiju with everything it has. Unashamedly, you cower back down under the debris, praying to anything that might be out there that you don't get stepped on. As much as you've tried to make peace with death, getting trampled by a machine that's meant to protect you is too ironic, even for your life. You plug your ears in an attempt to block out the roars and screeches coming from the battle. You know it can't be more than a few minutes, but every blow seems to take hours, weeks, a whole _eternity_ before the earth stops shaking, the pained screams stop ringing in your ears. 

You breathe heavily. Again, you know it's a bad idea, but, being a dumbass of the highest calibre, you stick your head back out from under your refuge before screaming. Directly in front of you lies a decapitated Kaiju head, its giant, glassy eye level with your own. At the sound of your cry, the Jaeger turns, catching sight of you. Much to your bewilderment, it stoops down, almost... _crouching_ to brush the head away with a flick of its metal wrist and lifting the concrete slab from over your head, leaving you exposed. But no, this must be a dream all over again, or you've died, or you're _hallucinating_. Because the Jaeger pilots, they're military, aren't they? And they're here on a job, they _must_ be, and that job most certainly does not include saving frightened minors. But here you are, too stunned to do anything but watch as a dull metal hand is extended to you. _What am I supposed to do? Shake it? It's ten times the size of my entire body_ , you think. But the harder you look at it - palm facing the sky, fingertips almost brushing you, the more you think...

"They want you to get on" a loud, accented voice rings out, startling you once again. You stare at the head, uncomprehending, as an exasperated sigh comes from it before a hatch opens at the top, a young man with a shaved head emerging. The Jaeger's third hand reaches up and _no, that's not possible._ A Jaeger can't move without both its pilots, and anyways, how would the pilot be able to avoid getting crushed by the giant hand reaching up to pluck him off its head? But possible or no, he's soon lowered to the ground, where he offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. You gasp in pain as weight settles on your ankle. Concerned, the man kneels before you, poking at your foot before you even get a chance to blink. "That's a nasty sprain." he says nonchalantly, standing back up to face you. "Here, I'll help you up. Just lie down on their hand. We should get you to a hospital. Do you have any family? Children, parents? Anyone we should know about, try to find?" Unfortunately for both of you, you only catch about half of that before very elegantly (and eloquently) mumble something that sounds suspiciously like "Hnhh" and passing out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you... for reading i'm about to cry at this point guys. thank you. for taking the time. to read this cursed creation.


End file.
